Drowning Sorrows
by Teenage.Dream92
Summary: Because sometimes all you need is a drink and a friend to help you make a few realizations about yourself, and to help you through the rough patches.


**(A/N): **Another one-shot! Getting sick of them yet? :P This time it's more of a friendship fic than anything, but there's a hint of TyHil romance. I wanted to try to portray the friendship between Tyson and Kai, because they are two of my favourite characters from the series! And I love their twisted friendship, LOL. It's attempted humour, so please bare with me. Leave me a review and give me some feedback if you'd like, it would be greatly appreciated! Anyways, hope you enjoy! :)

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Beyblade!

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**Drowning Sorrows**

"Damn it, they all look the same,"

Tyson cursed under his breath as he ambled through yet another alley. His russet eyes narrowed into thin slits as he squinted, trying to see the jumbled script on every passing door. Each one of them looked similar, and it was annoying the hell out of him. To make matters worse, the quickly fading light of the once-hot summer day was making it extremely difficult for him to make out the individual numbers. It also didn't help that the only streetlights along the dark pathway were dysfunctional; their bulbs flickered eerily, illuminating one second and then extinguishing the next. It was so damn disorienting, it made him feel lightheaded. With an exasperated huff, Tyson continued to wander down the alleyway, his hands jammed into the pockets of his red blazer.

He stopped when he noticed a massive brick wall standing before him. It towered above him, easily standing at around twenty feet. It was too high for Tyson to somehow jump. It had no grips for him to use as handles to scale it. Simply, it was a dead end. Frustrated, Tyson pulled back one of his feet and kicked the blockade furiously, the point of his sneaker making full contact with the centre of the wall. Taking out his anger on the wall proved to be an idiotic idea; it only led to more explicatives and a sore toe for the World-Champion 'blader.

"Perfect. Just freaking perfect," he grumbled, rubbing his throbbing foot.

Tyson hobbled to one side of the half-lit backstreet and leaned back onto the exterior wall of one of the enclosing buildings, heaving a sigh. Technically, he was supposed to be picking up a book for Gramps from a small bookstore, located within the heart of Bakuten. After he had finished up his classes at college for the day, Tyson had caught a bus to where he _thought_ the tiny corner-shop was. But as the hours passed and Tyson's sense of direction became more and more skewed, he had found himself becoming increasingly confused. About an hour ago, he had admitted – with a fair amount of reluctance – that he was lost. He had no idea where he was at the moment, although he guessed that he was in downtown Tokyo. If his sketchy surroundings gave any indication.

He kept trying to tell himself that it was a simple mistake that he had found himself here. He kept trying to reassure himself that he was alright. He kept trying to convince himself that nothing was even remotely wrong. But deep down, Tyson knew that he had come here for a reason. He knew why he was subconsciously led here. And he knew what he was going to end up doing.

The navy-haired adult pursed his lips, gazing at the door in front of him. It was ominous, to say the least. It was almost a mustard yellow colour, but the vibrancy of it had slowly greyed over time to a dirty beige. It was caked with scratches and dirt, handprints and footprints. Rust was laced around its edges, especially near the hinge. The awning above it had been torn apart, and it hung limply across its width. There was just one working light, which was lighting up the dusty scenery of the door. He could barely see the printing that was scrawled on it.

_The Back-Way Bar_.

At first, Tyson wasn't really sure if he was ready to lose his innocence. His mind drifted to thoughts of when he was young and carefree. He had faced many adversities back then; the pressures of being a world-class beyblader, the times when he had felt betrayed by his friends, that fateful day when he received word that his father had left him high-and-dry. The solutions had come without the aid of any alcohol, without any binge drinking. He just wasn't sure if drowning his sorrows at a bar was the right thing to do. Part of him willed him to walk away, right there and then, to keep his childish self alive for a little while longer. But he couldn't shake the memory flashes he kept getting, about the events earlier that day. He was depressed, and he felt that there was no way to get around it. Tyson gulped, his heart racing within his ribcage. Placing a shaky hand on the doorknob, he eased the door open.

Self-consciously, Tyson stumbled in, aware of all the eyes on him as he shut the door. He took in a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but was met with the strong, musty smell of smoke. His eyes began to water and his nose burned as he inhaled the sharp odour. He stifled a gag which was lifted to his mouth as the smoke hit him again, almost suffocating him. As he fought to get used to the heavy atmosphere, Tyson noticed that people had stopped to stare at him; he was making a scene. Hastily, he wiped the tears from his eyes and pried them open, taking in his surroundings. It was a dimly-lit place, having only several hanging lamps positioned poorly throughout the room. Although the chatter had briefly stopped when he had entered, the residents were talking again now, no doubt laughing at his amateur behaviour.

Tyson let out a snort and brushed them off, instead focussing his efforts on getting a drink. Quickly, he scanned the room. Booths were place strategically around the edges, for people who ventured in with friends. Tyson spotted an island at the heart of the bar, where he could see a couple of unoccupied barstools. Although it was hazy, he was able to see a bartender standing within the island, flitting around to each of his customers. He stopped momentarily after he had made his rounds, stooping to pick up a dirty cleaning rag. As he polished the surface of the table, Tyson made his move, confidently striding over to one of the empty seats.

"Hi," Tyson grinned at the buff, slightly-bald man holding the cleaning rag. He took a seat and stared at him expectantly.

"Um. Hi, kid," The bartender looked up, returning Tyson's stare with one of scrutiny. "Are you lost?" He asked, eying the crimson and indigo cap perched on the young male's head.

Tyson followed the gaze of the middle-aged man and noticed that it was directed at his hat. Sheepishly, he removed it and placed it on the counter. "I'm _not_ a kid," Tyson grunted, crossing his arms in annoyance. "And I'm not lost. I just want a drink."

"Okay…" The bartender drawled, still looking at him sceptically. "What can I get for you?"

Tyson stared at the wall behind the bartender. It was dizzying, simply staring at the heaps of colourful bottles and exotic drinks. That same back wall was also lined with a series of silvery taps, each dripping with the honey-gold residues of what he knew to be beer. He could see the alcohol, he could smell the alcohol, and hell, it was almost in his fingertips. But the more he stared at the choices, the more he couldn't decide. He didn't even know their freaking _names_.

"He'll have what I'm having," The gruff voice of a male, seated to the left of Tyson, spoke up. The bartender nodded accordingly, and hurried off to prepare the mystery drink.

"You can't order for me!" Tyson huffed, infuriated. It was true he probably wouldn't have been able to decide on a drink. And maybe he _was_ a little relieved that someone had ordered for him; he had been so flustered, being so new to the world of alcoholic beverages. But he was not some _kid_, damn it. So he decided to prove it. "You and me, buddy. Right now. I'll show you." He stood up and growled, his hands clenched into tight fists.

"Cut the crap, Tyson," The voice replied coldly, causing the angered teen's chocolate orbs to widen in surprise. He knew that voice, he knew that nauseatingly stony demeanour. Out of the corner of his eye, Tyson saw a wisp of white fabric near the bottom of the stool next to him, barely grazing the ground. He followed the long fabric up with his eyes, travelling the length of it until it ended, knotting neatly at the neck of the male. Tyson shifted his gaze up towards his harasser's face, and was shocked to see two distinct blue markings.

"K-Kai?" He croaked, his voice barely louder than a whisper. He gawked at his stoic captain, his mouth hanging wide open.

"Hn." Kai grunted his normal response, not bothering to look at Tyson.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Tyson finally fumed after recovering from his mild state of shock. He had hoped to avoid any confrontation with his teammates, knowing that they would probably disapprove of his new-found hobby. Still, it was a little comforting – in a weird way – to see someone he knew in this strange place. Even if it was the one person that he didn't really get along with. He pulled his barstool a little closer to the captain and took a seat once again, studying his captain curiously.

"I could ask you the same thing," Kai replied coolly, his amethyst eyes flickering towards Tyson before settling on his drink once again.

_Damn, I didn't think this through_. Tyson fidgeted uneasily in his seat, debating whether to reveal his reasons for coming to the bar. He wasn't one to express his emotions; it was one of his major weaknesses. Still, the pain he felt on this occasion was weighing him down, was slowly tearing him apart. He didn't know if he could handle it without _telling_ someone. Although, he hated the fact that _Kai_ had to be the one he had to talk to. Nothing usually evoked a response from the sardonic male, though. He probably wouldn't even take it seriously. Oh god, it was going to be one long night. _When is my drink coming again?_ The thought danced through Tyson's mind briefly and he looked over Kai's shoulder to see if he could spot the bartender.

"Spill, Granger," Kai snarled, his voice low. "Or you'll be feeling some pain tomorrow during practice."

"Alright, alright," Tyson winced, thinking of the potentially agonizing consequences. He raised his hands in defence. "Don't get your knickers in a twist,"

The slate-haired teen scowled, slamming his drink onto the table with such force that the counter shook. "Granger," He raised his voice warningly and narrowed his eyes.

"Fine," Tyson retreated, shooting him a glare. "It's Hilary. We had another fight today. Happy?"

"No." Kai raised his drink to his lips and took a sip before expanding on his words. "What did you do?"

"Me?" Tyson's voice rose another octave as he questioned his captain in disbelief. "Why is everything always _my _fault?"

His teammate merely cocked an eyebrow as he eyed Tyson doubtfully.

Irritated, Tyson slapped his hands onto the table. He was tired of everyone blaming him. He knew that sometimes – okay, most of the time – he wasn't the most agreeable person. But often, Hilary was the one that provoked their fights. The littlest things would set her off on an angry rant. She would lecture and nag him until he was at his breaking point. Then he would then go on some sort of rampant tirade and a yelling match would ensue. Their disagreements would always end in tears – on her part, obviously. He could clearly remember the expressions as they appeared on her delicate face. Anger. Hurt. Grief. And then she would be gone.

"Idiots," Kai muttered, closing his violet eyes.

"What?" Tyson seethed, surveying his captain with outward rage. It was at this moment that the bartender slid Tyson's drink towards him. He eyed it suspiciously, comparing it to Kai's. As promised, it was the same. He pressed the cold cup to his mouth, taking a cautious sip. The sweet liquid burned a trail down his throat, but it seemed to calm him. Tyson took a larger swig before continuing. "What do you _mean_, I'm an idiot?"

"Not just you," Kai shook his head and opened his eyes again, directing an almost apathetic stare at the stubborn male across from him. "Both of you."

"Huh?" Tyson downed another quarter of his drink. "We're not idiots! We're just two people who can't get along…" The navy-haired nineteen-year-old sighed unhappily, releasing the firm grip on his drink to place his head in his hands. "I just don't think we can ever be friends."

Kai snorted.

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?" Tyson shouted, causing the rest of the people in the bar to give him a strange look. Tyson flushed a deep red, and proceeded to lower his voice as he continued. "Stop being so damn cryptic, Hiwatari."

"You can't take a hint," He simply replied, causing Tyson to contort his expression into a deep frown. "Hilary and you cannot be friends," Kai began, taking a deep breath. "Because you two are meant to be something more. Dimwit,"

"I am not a dimwit—wait, what?"

"Damn it, Tyson! Get it through your thick skull," He bellowed, attracting more quizzical looks from curious onlookers. Kai gave them all a dirty look, and they all turned away to chatter nervously. With a scowl plastered to his face, the captain crossed his arms and continued. "The rest of us are all pissed off because you two can't stop fighting enough to get it together."

"M-me? And H-Hilary?" Tyson's auburn eyes grew to the size of dinner plates as he took in Kai's comment. He had never really thought of Hilary that way. More than once. Okay, so maybe it was darting through his head every now and then. He still didn't want to believe it. Before, he had dismissed it as some sort of hormonal phase. But then again, that phase had been going on for months now. How the hell did the guys know? Was it that obvious? And moreover…was it true?

Kai shrugged nonchalantly as he picked up his drink and finished it off. He cleared his throat before sliding off of the seat and standing up. "Maybe that'll give you something to think about," He retorted, a sly tone to his voice.

As Kai began to walk towards the door, Tyson stared at his drink in disbelief. His first real experience in a bar had been eye-opening to say the least. But there was still one thing he needed to know before he could mull over his relationship with Hilary.

"Hey, Kai?" The dazed nineteen-year-old called out to the captain the moment before he pulled the door open. "What's the name of this drink? It's kinda good,"

Kai's face pulled into a tight-lipped smirk before he replied. "Diet coke," He replied, pronouncing each world slowly. "You didn't think I'd let you get wasted on the night before a major practice, did you, Granger?" The captain sneered and turned back towards the door to let himself out.

"I'm not some freaking pansy, Hiwatari!" The remaining male yelled out, his voice angry, but it was too late; the mysterious Kai had already disappeared into the night.

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**(A/N):** Yes, yes. It's true. Kai goes to bars to have a diet coke. Because he has to look cool when he drinks pop. LOL. So anyways, how was it people? Hopefully it wasn't too excruciating to read, LOL. Anyways, enjoy your day!


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